


Toasters

by squireofgeekdom



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7330126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squireofgeekdom/pseuds/squireofgeekdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Clint have a conversation about the bots, what counts as real, and the importance of choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toasters

**Author's Note:**

> The views on AI and robots expressed in this fic are not those of the author, and are merely a guess at MCU!Clint's thoughts.  
> #IForOneWelcomeOurNewRobotOverlords
> 
> Time period is vague, but probably a little while after the Avengers?

As Clint makes his way into the workshop, he hears more and more shouting. 

“No, no, it’s fine, don’t - what did I say? What did I say about spraying me when I’m not on fire? Yes, I know there was a fire, but it wasn’t - it was only a _little_ on me, and I _said_ I had it under control. C’mon, Dum-e. You want me to donate you to a high school robotics club? Huh?”

“Wow,” Clint says. “This is sad.”

Tony nearly drops the gauntlet he’s holding as he and the robot look - though ‘look’ might have been questionable in the robot’s case, as what he was pointing at Cint seemed like nothing more than a set of claws, like a smaller version of the ones from arcade games - up at him.

“How’d you get in here?”

“Door was unlocked.”

Well, it wasn’t, but when Natasha Romanoff assigned you the task of checking on the absent Stark in the middle of an Avengers gathering, you didn’t let little things like locked doors stop you.

“Huh - I could have - “ Tony shakes his head. “Nevermind. What did you need?”

“Nat wants you to come up to the party. Or at least, to know you haven’t curled up and died down here.” Clint watches another robot trundling around, looks around at the floating holograms and the mechanical parts strewn on the tables. “Is this what you do all day? Hole up down here alone with the machines?”

“I’m not alone.” Tony says, reaching back down to adjust a piece of the gauntlet. “I’ve got Dum-e. And U. And JARVIS.” He says, jabbing a finger at the ceiling. 

“Hello, Mr. Barton.”

“Yeah, hey,” Clint says, scratching the back of his head. No matter how long he stays here, no matter what Stark says, an omnipresent robot voice (and ears, and _eyes_ ) in your house is weird. “I mean _people_ people. Who actually like you. You know, like the ones upstairs?” _Your team,_ he almost says but bites back.

“Hey, U, can you pass me that wrench? Thanks.” Tony says. “These guys like me.” He adds offhandedly. “Right, U, Dum-e?” The robot nearest him nudges his hand, he leans on the arm casually, running his hand along the metal for a moment before returning to tinkering. “I’ll be up in a bit, as soon as we get this finished.”

“Yeah, sure.” Clint says, knowing Natasha won’t be particularly satisfied with that answer. 

He starts towards the door, Tony, behind him, starts talking to the machines again. “Dum-e, let’s pull over the old version? JARVIS, gimme the specs.”

“Look,” Clint says, turning back around. “I mean, I know you’re the tech guy and all, you’re all about the machines, but you do know they’re not people, right? There are real people upstairs, who care about you, for some reason, and this? These machines? This is fake. And it just -”

“Fake?” Tony says, turning around, fully focused on Clint for the first time. “You - you think -”

“They’re machines, dude. Really cool machines but, c’mon, I don’t sweet-talk my arrows. Well, sometimes, but it’s only for luck.” 

“I know they’re machines, Barton. Doesn’t mean they’re faking. Dum-e and U are worse at faking than people, though JARVIS is developing a mean poker face.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

“But -”

“Look, Barton. You don’t think I’m spending enough time with the team, that’s fine. But I know what’s real and what’s fake. These guys? They’re real, and they’re my team too. Now, when my da - when someone says they love you for the cameras and then -” He cuts himself off quickly. “- that’s fake. These guys are real. Hell, they’ve saved my life, which is more than you can say for most ‘real’ people.” Tony swivels back around in his chair, pats the robot closest to him. 

Clint thinks for a moment. “I get it. Dad never loved you, so you built robots to love you instead. Seems a bit -”

But he’s cut off by a sharp “ _What._ ” and Tony turns around, looking as horrified as Clint had ever seen him. “I didn’t - I _wouldn’t_ \- I wouldn’t make them -”

“Woah, cool your jets, man.”

Tony takes sharp breaths through his nose. One of the robots perks its - his? their? - head up. 

“I don’t _force_ them to lo - to _feel_ , or - or think - anything. That’s - I wouldn’t do that.” He says, almost _shuddering._

Clint remembers his mind as a blank slate, for Loki to write on, and thinks he can grasp a little bit of that horror. It shouldn’t be so comforting to hear Tony express a horror of ‘mind control’ if you could call it that, for what are basically his big toasters. But it is.

(Which wasn’t to say the guy’s morality wasn’t skewed in a million different other ways, see, again, giant toasters, for starters, but at least, on this, they agreed.)

“The only thing Dum-e and U are programmed to do is _learn._ If they care about - anyone, it’s because they learned to. Because - they _chose_ to.” Tony huffs, looks down, rubbing his forehead before he looks back up at Clint. “So be nice to them, ‘cause I couldn’t program them to like you guys if I wanted to.” He says, absentmindedly patting the closest robot’s head. 

“What, ‘cause you’re nice to them all the time? That’s why they like _you_?” Clint asks skeptically, looking over at the other robot, the one Tony had been berating earlier. 

“I’m nice!” Tony protests, at which the other robot tilts its - head? claw? - as if in - disbelief? “Hey! I’m nice! When nobody’s spraying me I’m perfectly nice!”

The robot wheels further away in response.

“Traitor,” Tony mutters, but the upturned quirk of his mouth betrays him just as well. “Hey! Dum-e! You wanna be friends with Clint instead? Maybe he’ll use you for target practice.” 

“What! Hey, I wouldn’t -”

And maybe he doesn’t get it. Maybe he never will. But he can see that shooting at the bots might be kind of a dick move. And hey, maybe it’s some comfort to know that Stark gives a damn about something other than himself.

Even if it’s his toasters.


End file.
